On the Explosive Anger of Yuri Plisetsky
by Hota
Summary: Viktor, on the other hand, called. And kept calling until he shut his phone off or answered the idiot. Usually, like now, he wasn't woken by his alarm, but rather Viktor's ringtone blaring 'You're Going Down' on repeat.


**A/N:** Crossposted from my AO3 - archiveofourown dot org / works/8768668

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By the time he was six years old, he knew intimately how unforgiving the world could be, how cruel its inhabitants. By the time he was seven, he knew just how much people sucked. Knew how the entire world was full of jerks who didn't even know how good they had it and looked down on others for their misfortune.

His mother fell ill before he could walk. It wasn't a debilitating illness, not then at least. There were days she could take him to the park or the zoo, could read him a story at bedtime, could fix him breakfast... but as months and years went by, more often than not she was a living corpse who haunted the upstairs, heard by a wheezing moan but rarely seen.

That didn't keep him from slipping into her room when his grandfather went out for errands though. It didn't keep him from trying his damndest to read her the stories she'd read him, or think twice about fetching her a cup of juice when the previous one grew too hot. It didn't stop him from sitting beside her pillows and combing her hair with his fingers, his child-high voice off-key as he hummed the _Dance of the Sugarplum Fairie_ of her music box until she fell asleep.

It didn't keep him from snooping through the boxes in her closet once she did, either. When he found her skates and she told him about how she'd used them when younger to glide across the ice, he'd begged his grandfather the next four days straight to take him skating. When he finally relented, he fell enough he had bruises for a week, but it didn't stop him from begging to go again, and again, until his grandfather finally enrolled him in a class that practiced twice a week.

He learned quickly, devoted his every waking moment away from his mother to focusing on his balance, to watching the teachers and studying how they carried themselves, to learning how to get back on his feet as quickly as possible when he fell, and how not to fall to begin with. He skated because in his child's mind he'd thought maybe, just maybe, if he learned to be good enough, skate well enough, it might give his mother the strength to come watch him. And if she could come watch him, maybe she would want to be on the ice again badly enough to get better.

What a load of bullshit that was.

It happened while he was at practice. She'd been doing better, seemed more awake, more present, when he told her about his practices, how much he was learning and how fun it was. He thought maybe it was working, that he'd been able to find a way to heal her by sharing her love of ice skating. Maybe he'd broken her heart instead.

The funeral took place on the winter solstice, and he remembered thinking at the time that he'd never see the sunlight again. Not the way he had before. He missed the next practice, and the one after that, and was on the verge of telling his grandfather he was done skating when the man sat down and pulled him onto his knee. Asked him if he enjoyed skating, if he was sure he wanted to give it up, because his mother had been so happy hearing him talk about how much fun he had, she'd smiled in a way he hadn't seen since the day Yuri was born.

When he returned to practice, it was with every intention of becoming the best. Viktor was the one who planted the seed of competing a year later, when he'd seen the other male skating and heard him talking about competitions with his coach. He latched onto that with every fibre of his being. He would rise to the top. He would win every gold medal in existence because his mother never could, and he was _good._ No, he was _great,_ because he couldn't afford to be anything less.

He surpassed the others in his class by sheer force of will, what talent he'd inherited from his mother, and his genuine love of ice skating itself. By the time Yakov scouted him, he'd already perfected his holier-than-thou attitude, intent on bloodying anyone who dared question his motives or even thought of breathing a word about his mother because they were jealous assholes who didn't know their boot from their blade.

Befriending Viktor had been a stroke of luck, and he took every opportunity he could to watch the older male work. How he came up with routines so effortlessly was a point of envy, especially when any poking or prodding about why this or why that was met with a blithe smile and a laugh or a shrug.

And when he'd seen Katsuki Yuuri's performance and subsequent choke? He'd been annoyed enough at seeing someone _else_ with the same talent as Viktor who he'd have to compete against to follow him, and then angry at finding him _crying_ in the damn bathroom like a heartbroken teenager. Someone who had that much talent and skill didn't get to just _cry_ because they missed a few jumps, dammit.

What made it all worse was he'd underestimated the little piggy. Someone who choked that easily under pressure couldn't be worth their weight in salt. So he'd thought. He wasn't even angry at the fact Yuuri had performed better than him at _Onsen on Ice_. He was angry at the fact Yuuri had a loving family who supported him, had all the time he could possibly need to perfect his routines and hone his skills, and he choked almost every competition he performed in. And then he went and tempted Viktor away from competing.

And the cherry on top? He couldn't even hate Yuuri for it. A week was all he needed to know he'd never be able to hate him. For all his flaws when it came to competing, he was a decent human being. Quiet and unassuming, and an occasional backbone made of steel.

Yuuri reminded him of his mother and grandfather. Not in looks or personality, more in the way he took simple pleasure in things, how he spoke in earnest and from the heart, even about something as stupid as declaring _katsudon_ as a valid inspiration for _Eros._

The way Yuuri and Viktor got along in the candid videos Yuuko and the triplets sent him made him think that maybe they deserved each other. They sure as hell were gross enough to be a couple even if they apparently wouldn't admit to it. Even that short week he'd been in Hasetsu with them, he knew exactly what was going on between them. He might be young, but he was far from stupid. Or blind. And he'd seen Viktor in playboy mode more times than he cared to remember.

Yuuri texted him a few times a week after _Onsen on Ice_ , but he never deigned to respond.

Viktor, on the other hand, called. And kept calling until he shut his phone off or answered the idiot. Usually, like now, he wasn't woken by his alarm, but rather Viktor's ringtone blaring _You're Going Down_ on repeat.

He rolled over with a groan, stabbing the answer and then speaker buttons. "What the fuck do you want? Do you know what time it is?"

"Yurio-"

"That's not my name you dumbass!"

" _Ohayo_ ~!" Viktor continued, drawing out the vowel an infuriating extra two seconds. "I'm calling to congratulate you on placing in the Grand Prix! We're so proud of you!"

"I don't need your praise you balding old man," Yuri growled, hating the flush of pleasure from Viktor's words nonetheless. He sighed at the silence that met his words, easily picturing the stricken expression at someone daring to comment on his imagined receding hairline. He rolled his eyes and sat up, looking for his shirt as Viktor wallowed in silence.

"Yuu~ri~," he finally called. "Yurio is being a grumpy kitten."

Yuri rolled his eyes again as he got dressed, putting his hair in a ponytail and tugging on his hoodie. He didn't catch the piggy's response as he left the phone on the bed and made his way to the bathroom. Knowing those two, they'd forget they were even on the phone with him.

Sure enough, he heard Yuuri still consoling Viktor in broken English about his damn hair when he returned, snorting quietly as he picked the phone back up. "I'm hanging up, you idiots."

"Yurio, wait! Are you home right now?"

"It's six in the fucking morn-"

"Good, hurry up and come outside!"

The line went dead, leaving Yuri with an ominous sense of foreboding. He inched over to his window and looked outside, somehow not surprised to find Viktor and Yuuri standing on the sidewalk. He threw the window open and leaned out. "What the hell are you doing here, you stalkers?"

Viktor grinned and lifted his hand in a wave. "Hi hi~," he called, entirely too energetic for such an ungodly hour. The sun was just starting to rise dammit.

Yuri slammed the window shut and thundered down the stairs, surprised pleasure warring with shock. What the hell were they doing back in Russia? There were precious few days left before the Grand Prix, surely they weren't calling it quits? Yuuri barely scraped up just enough points to place; he'd shove the little piggy's skates up his ass if he didn't show. Somehow it wouldn't mean as much winning if he didn't get to beat Yuuri while he was at it.

He wasn't sure why he'd started feeling that way, he just knew something had changed during the Rostelecom Cup. Maybe it'd been his inability to focus on _Agape_ knowing his grandfather hadn't been in the audience. More likely it'd been the shame that came after when he'd learned he _had_ been there, slipping into the audience just as Yuri's music started.

He couldn't rely on something so trivial as being watched by one person to win; he'd never make it that way. He'd been skating for his mother for so long… maybe it was time to let go. And when he decided to skate for _himself_ instead, it'd been so freeing he ended up pushing himself harder than he ever had before, hit the highest score of his career.

He didn't hate himself afterwards for losing focus because he hadn't _lost_ his focus. He gave it his all, something he'd never been able to do before, when he was so caught up in trying to make a memory proud of him.

His grandfather was proud of him no matter what. His mother would have been, too.

It'd been easy, after that, to cheer for someone else. Especially when he realized Yuuri was out of focus without Viktor there to watch him. Maybe they weren't so different after all.

And wasn't that just a kick in the nuts?

He stopped in front of the aggravating duo with a glare. "Well? What do you want?"

Viktor grinned, keeping an arm slung over Yuuri's shoulders. "We're kidnapping you. With Yakov and Baranovskaya's permission, of course."

" _Haaa_?!" Yuri was too dumbstruck to react to that and a moment later found himself being dragged behind Viktor by his collar, Yuuri trailing them with an amused smile. He ignored Viktor's prattling about where to find breakfast as he tried to wrap his mind around whatever the hell was happening. He twitched away from Viktor and punched him in the arm before eyeing him. "Why are you back here?"

"I wanted Yuuri to have a proper memory of Mother Russia."

Yuri squinted at Viktor a moment, glancing back at Yuuri when he realized the date. Viktor brought Yuuri here for his _birthday_? Why the hell had they dragged _him_ along? He shoved his hands in his pockets, side-eyeing Viktor as they walked. "Why are you dragging me along?"

"Yuuri wanted to."

" _Why_?" He gnashed his teeth when Viktor smiled at him, in that way that suggested he might understand when he grew up more. He kneed the back of Viktor's leg before slowing to fall into step beside Yuuri instead. "What's the big idea, dragging me on your date?"

Yuuri gave him the same infuriating smile. "I never said thanks for the _katsudon piroshky._ "

Yuri glanced away before Yuuri could see the faint smile the memory of his grandfather's _piroshky_ dredged up. "Wasn't a big deal," he mumbled, jumping as Viktor decided to join them by sandwiching him in, throwing an arm all the way across to rest around Yuuri's shoulders. He was stuck in an idiot sandwich. Gods help him, but it actually felt kind of... nice.

"So where should we go? There are churches and museums and-"

"Why don't we go to your favorite spots? I don't care for the tourist sights."

Yuri snorted. "So the ice rink, his apartment, and the café between." He smirked as Yuuri smothered a laugh and caught the hint of an embarrassed flush on Viktor's nose.

"The café sounds nice," Yuuri said, and then _he_ was flushing, and fuck, he really was surrounded by idiots. _Gross_ idiots.

"Alright. Maybe we'll find a nice girl Yurio's age to join us."

Yuri rolled his eyes and refused to rise to the bait. He wasn't interested in _girls_. He wasn't exactly interested in _boys_ either. He didn't need someone to date; he had enough to worry about with skating and his cat.

He let himself relax a bit as the Idiot Duo continued being gross, ready to punch the first one of them who tried to kiss the other over his head.

"Ah, it's snowing!"

Yuri tipped his head back, closing his eyes as a few soft flakes hit his cheek and melted. He couldn't quite hide his smile this time, something like peace settling over him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so at ease, though it was likely when he'd been able to spend the day by his mother's side.

His chest ached at the memories, but that was okay. If there was one thing he was learning, it was that he didn't have to be alone. No, it was that he _wasn't_ alone, even if that meant being friends with an infuriating genius and a little piggy.

For the first time in almost ten years, he felt like he could finally let go.

 _Dasvidaniya, mama. Lyublyu tebya._


End file.
